


Five Times John Tried to Make Sherlock Laugh

by RoseAngel



Series: The Red Thread [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bad Jokes, First Meetings, Gen, Humor, M/M, Prompt Fic, Star Trek References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseAngel/pseuds/RoseAngel
Summary: An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break. - Ancient Chinese belief
A series of alternate ways that John and Sherlock could have met. PROMPT FIC
Prompt #10: the class clown tries to get the pretentious, stoic know-it-all to laugh au





	

**Author's Note:**

> The last 5+1 I wrote ended up being my most popular fic in this series. So, I thought it might be worth writing another one. If you'd like to see more of these, absolutely leave a comment (or a prompt!)
> 
> A million thanks to Becca (LlamaWithAPen) for being a brilliant beta.
> 
> Today's prompt comes from Tumblr user metaphoricalbutton's "Opposites attract AU prompts" post.

**Five Times John Tried to Make Sherlock Laugh...**

_One_.

"Honey, I love you, won't you give me a smile?"

Sherlock bit back a groan, raising his book to block his view of the giggling students on the other side of the courtyard. This stupid game was the latest craze, for God only knew what reason. Some student had learnt it in an extracurricular drama class, and he had taught it to his friends, who had taught it to their friends, and suddenly, it felt like everyone was playing it. It was an acting game, to learn to keep composure if something funny happened on stage, but it had spread to even the least theatre-inclined students in the school.

The rules were simple: if you are 'in', your task is to make someone laugh, by saying the words, "Honey, I love you, won't you give me a smile?" in the funniest way that you can manage. If you succeed, then you swap places, and the person who had laughed is then 'in'. If, however, the person manages to keep a straight face and reply with, "Honey, I love you, but I just can't smile," then they win, and you had to find a new victim.

It was repetitive, tedious, and dull, and Sherlock could not understand why it had become so popular. Yet, everyone was playing it, and it was impossible to find somewhere quiet.

Normally, he would hide out in an empty classroom, or in the library, because he worked best away from distractions. However, the school thought it was a good idea to enforce one hour a week where, weather permitting, students were forced "encouraged" to go outside and get some sun. Which meant that, for one hour a week, the library was shut, and the classrooms were locked, and Sherlock was forced to step out into the light and – heavens forbid – be around people.

Sherlock had chosen one of the smallest courtyards on campus. Surely, he had thought, a smaller area would mean that there would be fewer people. It was a far preferable choice to somewhere like the field, which would not only be loud and crowded but would also hold a very real risk of a soccer ball smacking into Sherlock's head. However, the courtyard still had people in it – only a small number of them, yes, but those few people were playing that particular game, and Sherlock was very quickly tiring of hearing the same two sentences, repeated over and over, in various accents and tones of voice. Plus, it was made all the worse that the same girl had been in for a few rounds now, which meant that there wasn't even variety in the way the words were being spoken.

When yet another person responded with a straight face, the girl – Molly Hooper, who Sherlock recognised from his biology class – let out a loud sigh. "I give up," she said. "I can't do it, I've tried all of you now. Someone needs to swap with me."

"You haven't tried _everyone_ ," said another girl in the group, before dropping her tone to a whisper that was not as quiet as it could have been. "You haven't tried Sherlock."

Even with his view partially occluded by the book in his hands, Sherlock could see the way Molly's face had turned red. "No!" she exclaimed, glancing in Sherlock's direction and then very quickly looking away after a split second of eye contact. "He's not playing, he doesn't count. Besides, I don't think anyone could make him laugh."

Sherlock hoped that that would be the last of his inclusion in their conversation.

It was not.

The next thing that someone said was, "Bet you John could."

Sherlock had never had a proper conversation with John Watson, but he certainly knew of him. They shared a number of classes; John was captain of the rugby team, and self-proclaimed class clown. He was popular and likeable and easy to get along with – everything Sherlock wasn't. Sherlock did not think he was as much of an imbecile as some of his other classmates, but he had never felt an overwhelming desire to get to know him.

If the girl's words became anything more than a passing comment, then Sherlock might just be about to.

Fortunately, it was John himself who spoke up next, shaking his head. "Come on, leave him alone. I imagine he wants to read his book in peace, not get roped into playing with us." He caught Sherlock's eye for a moment and gave him a reassuring smile.

Unfortunately, John's friends did not seem to share the same attitude.

"Maybe he's sitting over there secretly hoping that we'll drag him into our game," said one of the girls.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm secretly hoping that you will all decide to leave the courtyard," he said. "Or at very least that you'll choose a game that is quieter and does not involve nearly as much squealing."

The small group turned to face him as he spoke. Molly looked flustered, John looked amused, and one of the other boys – Mike Stamford, also from Sherlock's biology class – looked… conspiring?

"Come on, Sherlock, give it a shot," Mike said.

"I think I'll pass," Sherlock replied.

"One round," Mike said. "And if you win, we'll play somewhere else."

Sherlock glanced up at that. That sounded like a perfectly good deal to him – he would have the courtyard to himself. The rest of Mike's group seemed to accept the terms of the deal. Perhaps they didn't realise how hard it was to make Sherlock laugh. Maybe they were still holding onto the belief that one of them would end up victorious.

Sherlock took note of the page he was on, and then closed his book, getting to his feet. "All right," he said.

Mike grinned, and he glanced over at John. "Would you like to do the honours?"

"Well, if I must," John said, although he did not sound at all disappointed. He took a step forward, looking relaxed, confident. Of course, why wouldn't he? He was the self-proclaimed class clown; a game that involved making someone laugh would have been like second nature to him. Pity, Sherlock thought. It would just be more embarrassing when he lost.

John did not start with the words His first move was to take off his jumper, swing it around in one hand, and then toss it off to the side, striking a pose as he did as though he belonged in some sort of bad 80s movie. The jumper in question landed straight on the head of one of the girls in his group, who found it hysterically funny and was immediately in fits of laughter.

Sherlock did not even smile.

John walked forward slowly, his movements half flirtatious and half ridiculous. Sherlock couldn't say for certain if that was because he was trying to make Sherlock laugh, or if it was because John could not flirt for the life of him. Behind John, his group of friends were laughing, covering their mouths with their hands as though they were trying – and failing – to suppress it. Sherlock couldn't see why. John was trying to be funny, but it wasn't _that_ funny.

When John came to a stop in front of Sherlock, he immediately dropped to one knee, bowing his head as though he had just met the Queen. He looked up at Sherlock after a moment, cracking a grin before he started to speak.

"Honey," he began, and he had put on the most ridiculous voice – something high and squeaky that instantly had everyone else in his group in fits of laughter. Everyone except Sherlock, of course.

John continued, "I love you. Won't you please, please, _please_ give me a smile?"

Judging by the way John's friends were doubled over in laughter, if John had chosen anyone else as a target, he would have won.

Sherlock was not quite so easy to amuse. He folded his hands behind his back, and he said, with a straight face and a neutral, bordering on monotonous voice, "Honey, I love you, but I just can't smile."

Someone in John's group of friends made an "Ooooooh!" sound in between their laughter, and a couple of them clapped. Sherlock, for the most part, tuned them out, instead focussing on John. There was an amused smile on John's face, coupled with an expression that made it seem like John was impressed.

"Damn," he said as he got back to his feet. "You are good. You really should play with us – you could be our undefeated champion."

"Thrilling, but I think I'll pass," Sherlock said. He reached down to pick up his book again, and said, "Now, I believe you were leaving."

John's lips quirked upwards, and he turned to his group of friends. "Come on, guys, we did promise," he said, and he gestured to the gates at the exit. Behind him, his group of friends gathered up their things, making their way out of the courtyard, finally to leave Sherlock in peace.

Before Sherlock returned to his book, however, John turned back to face him. "I'll make you laugh," he said.

"I believe we just demonstrated that you couldn't."

John shook his head. "That was just one attempt. I'll manage, you just wait."

_Two_.

John's mission to make Sherlock laugh started the next morning, in their biology class. As usual, Sherlock got in early enough to choose a seat at the back, away from everyone. As usual, the next bunch of people who filed inside chose seats further away from him, because everyone knew that Sherlock was not to be sat next to unless you were willing to deal with the possibility of being insulted. However, when John entered the classroom, he did not take a seat near the front, closer to his other friends, as he usually would. Instead, he walked straight to the seat next to Sherlock, grabbed the chair, swung it around, and sat on it backwards, facing Sherlock. He leaned his forearms on the back of the chair, and just stared at Sherlock until Sherlock had no choice but to turn to him.

"Can I help you?" Sherlock asked.

"I have a joke," John said.

"Good for you. Do I have to hear it?"

"Yes. And you're going to find it hilarious and you're going to laugh."

"Is that an order?"

A grin grew over John's face at that, though he didn't respond. Instead, he just said, "All right, you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Nope!" said John, in a cheerily tone of voice. "All right. So there's this guy, yeah? And this guy decides he's going to take his girlfriend to the prom."

"Yes, I imagine that one often chooses to take one's own romantic partner to such an event."

"Shh, you're ruining the mood. So, he's going to the prom, but there's lots of preparations. So, first he needs to get his suit tailored. So, he goes to the tailor, and there's a super long line, but he waits patiently and eventually he gets his suit tailored and he goes home."

Sherlock lets out a long-suffering sigh, which John ignores.

"Next," John continues," he goes to buy a corsage for his girlfriend, so he goes to the florist. And again, there's a super long line, but he waits, and he waits, and eventually, he buys a beautiful corsage that matches his girlfriend's dress."

"Marvellous, he can colour code," Sherlock drawled.

"I'm not done yet. So, it gets to the night of the prom -"

"A thrilling turn of events."

"Shut up, you're ruining it. It gets to the night of the prom, and he and his girlfriend are there, and they're dancing, and they're laughing, and they're just generally having a great time. And then his girlfriend decides she wants some punch, and so he offers to go get some. So, he waltzes on up to the punch table, and there's no punch line."

Sherlock blinks.

John grins, as though he's expecting the joke to click at any moment.

If this were a cartoon, crickets might have chirped.

"Oh, come on," John said after a long enough silence. "That was funny."

"Was it? I didn't notice."

"You have no sense of humour, clearly."

"I have a sense of humour," Sherlock argued. "It just requires things of a higher standard to make me laugh. I don't see the humour in stupid jokes like that. I certainly hope it wasn't the best you could come up with."

"It wasn't," John replied, standing as the teacher entered the room so he could turn his chair around to face the front again. "I'm just getting warmed up."

_Three_.

Their next biology class together was two days later. Once again, Sherlock chose his favourite seat in the back corner of the room. The seat beside him ended up taken a moment later by another girl – not one who wanted to sit next to Sherlock, he deduced as he glanced at her, but one who was fighting with her two friends and had taken a seat as far away from them as she could manage. The seat directly in front of Sherlock, however, was vacant when John came in, and this was the seat that John chose.

John did not speak to Sherlock at the start of class, instead paying attention to the teacher as she spoke. Sherlock thought that, perhaps, it meant he had chosen the seat near Sherlock by chance and it did not mean that he was continuing with his ploy to get a laugh out of Sherlock. He discovered that he was wrong as soon as they were given their worksheets.

Some of the other people in Sherlock's class were working together, which meant that the classroom was not silent. John took advantage of this, leaning back on the back legs of his chair. He turned his upper body in the seat and put one hand on Sherlock's desk to support himself.

"You're clever," John stated.

Sherlock raised one eyebrow. "Brilliant observation."

"You thought my last joke was too stupid for your liking. Which, might I add, just means _you're_ stupid, because that joke was fantastic, but we'll move on. You need clever jokes to make you laugh."

"Is there such a thing?"

"Yes, actually. I Googled it last night."

"My, aren't you dedicated."

Sherlock intended it sarcastically, but John grinned nonetheless. "I am, actually. So, I've found some clever jokes for you. You'll like these. Ready?"

"Am I getting a choice?"

"Absolutely not," John replied. He turned around for a moment before he resumed his position in the chair, and Sherlock saw that he had grabbed his phone, and was holding it in his lap, out of view of the teacher.

"You have them on your phone?" Sherlock asked. "Maybe you're not all that dedicated, if you didn't even bother to memorise them."

"Excuse you," said John. "I am incredibly dedicated to the cause."

"The cause?"

"The cause of making poor, miserable souls like yourself laugh. It's a very good cause."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John continued, "And I did actually memorise some of them. I'm just making sure I get this perfectly. Now, what's the difference between ignorance and apathy?"

There was an expectant pause, and after a moment, Sherlock frowned. "Are you expecting me to answer that?"

"God, you make telling jokes difficult. You're supposed to prompt me."

"Am I, now?"

"Yes. I ask you the question, and you said, 'I don't know, John, do please tell me'."

"I'm fairly certain jokes aren't usually quite so scripted on the behalf of the listener."

"Well, _usually_ the listener knows that they have to prompt the joke-teller, but clearly you need a bit of extra guidance. So, come on, let's try this again. What's the difference between ignorance and apathy?"

Sherlock let the silence stretch out for a moment, before giving into John's glare. "I don't know, John, please tell me," he said, rolling his eyes as he spoke to make sure that John didn't think he was being in any way sincere.

John replied, "I don't know, and I don't care."

Sherlock didn't laugh. After a moment, he asked, "Is that the funniest 'clever' joke you could find."

"No," John replied quickly. "That's just one from the list. One of these is going to make you laugh."

"Not likely."

"Shut up. What do you get when you cross a joke with a rhetorical question?"

It took Sherlock a second to realise that John was not waiting for a prompt for that one: the joke was that there was no answer. He rolled his eyes.

John scrolled through the list on his phone for a second before deciding on another one. "I tried walking up a hill without a watch, but I had neither the time nor the inclination."

"Do you understand these jokes," Sherlock asked, "or are they too clever for you?"

"Rude," said John. He scrolled through the list for a moment, his gaze flickering between Sherlock and his phone. "There's got to be something you find funny. Everyone laughs occasionally. Even you, Mr Ice King."

"Ice King? That's a new one."

John opened his mouth, either to respond to that or to read out a new joke, but, much to Sherlock's relief, it was at that point that the bell rang, signalling the end of class. Sherlock leaned over to the pile of his belongings on the floor and lifted them onto the desk so he could pack up.

"Well," he said, "this has been thrilling."

"I'll find something to make you laugh eventually," John said.

"Eventually," Sherlock replied, "you'll realise you can't, and you'll give up."

"I think I'm a tad more determined than you give me credit for."

"You're certainly stubborn, I'll give you that much." Sherlock got to his feet, stepping past John's desk. "Enjoy your jokes," he said as he joined the crowd of students who were pushing and shoving their way to the door (as though they wouldn't get outside if they didn't get to the door first).

Behind him, he heard John yell, "Schrodinger's cat walks into a bar. And doesn't!"

_Four_.

John did not bombard Sherlock with any more jokes their next biology lesson, even when everyone else started talking amongst themselves. Sherlock concluded that it meant that he was safe, that John had realised – just as Sherlock had expected him to – that his mission was futile. Things could finally go back to the way they were, with Sherlock sitting quietly in classes and not talking to anyone.

As it turned out, John had not given up. John had just come up with a new method. (One that was equally unsuccessful, of course).

It happened during the lunch hour that they were forced to spend outside. Sherlock had left his classroom, and was searching for somewhere quiet where he could sit, without being subject to another game of Honey, I Love You, and without the risk of a ball being thrown at his head.

Sherlock normally put the world around him on mute when he wanted to focus, but on this particular occasion, because he was searching for somewhere quiet, it was necessary to turn the volume of the world up. How could he find somewhere quiet to sit if he was ignoring the things that made noise?

He was aware of the giggled conversation of the two girls who walked past him in the opposite direction (discussing a particular boy who had started showing interest in one of their friends), of the sound of a ball being bounced by the boy a few feet in front of him (on his way to the oval to play with his friends), and the rustle of paper on one of the nearby benches (a student with an exam in a few hours, desperately cramming). So, when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him, starting out slow and then getting faster, he knew that someone was creeping up on him.

He pretended not to notice, at first. He didn't break his stride, and continued to walk at the same pace. Then, he heard the footsteps behind him change, no longer the sound of walking but instead the sound of two feet being prepared to take off from the ground, followed by something not unlike a battle cry.

Sherlock timed it perfectly. He took a step to the side at just the right moment, and the person who had leapt from behind – John, of course – landed first on two feet in the place Sherlock had been a moment earlier, though he immediately lost his footing and fell backwards, straight onto his bottom.

John's friends, who had been with him, immediately burst into laughter. Naturally, Sherlock did not. He simply turned to look at John, very briefly assessing him for any sign of an injury worse than a bruise on his behind, and when he had concluded that John was virtually unharmed, he raised his eyebrows.

"I thought the idea was to make me laugh," Sherlock said, "not to startle me."

"It was," John replied, getting to his feet carefully and dusting himself off (but not before shooting a glare at the two friends who were stifling laughter behind him). "People laugh when they've been startled. The jokes weren't working for you, so I knew I needed something else."

"Yes, well, your 'something else' seems to be equally ineffective and has just resulted in you hurting yourself."

"All part of the plan," John said. "It's slapstick. People falling over is funny. I did it intentionally."

"No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't," John conceded. "But it's still funny."

"Hardly."

"Well, my friends think it was."

"Small things amuse small minds."

John's lips quirked upwards into a slight smile, and he glanced over his shoulder at his friends. Sherlock did the same, to see if they had picked up on the insult, though if they had, they did not look like they were about to do anything about it. Perhaps John's interest in making Sherlock laugh protected him from the potential of being punched for something he said.

"So," John said, when he turned back to Sherlock. "You don't like jokes, and you don't like people falling over. What _do_ you like?"

"If I told you, then it would be giving you an advantage," Sherlock said.

John's face immediately broke into a grin. "That means there _is_ something."

"Not necessarily."

They reached an intersection, and turned to go in opposite directions, but then John turned back upon realising that Sherlock was no longer walking alongside him. "I'll work it out, Sherlock. I will."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Sherlock replied, and then they turned down their respective paths.

_Five_.

Sherlock had come to the conclusion that John was becoming increasingly desperate.

His attempts at making Sherlock laugh, if anything, were becoming less and less well thought out. The jokes that John had come up with when this had all begun were not as funny as John seemed to believe, but at least it meant that he had gone to the effort of searching for jokes, preparing for the moment when he would use them.

Today, John's attempt to make Sherlock laugh was to make funny faces at Sherlock from the front of the class.

Sherlock had not noticed, at first – not because he'd been too busy paying attention to the teacher, of course, but because he had let his mind wander, his gaze somewhere off in the distance and his attention nowhere near the classroom.

Eventually, however, Sherlock realised that John had been staring at him. When Sherlock glanced over, he saw that John had a wide-eyed look on his face, and he was not blinking (or, he was blinking very infrequently). Sherlock had no way of knowing how long John had been looking at him like that for.

When John realised that he had Sherlock's attention, he opened his mouth and crossed his eyes, and Sherlock realised at this point that John was not staring at him for any reason other than the fact that he had been trying to get Sherlock's attention. Now that he had it, he was taking full advantage. A few seconds later, he changed his expression, puffing out his cheeks like a chipmunk and scrunching up his nose. The entire sight was made even funnier by the way John's cheeks turned red with the effort.

Sherlock kept the smile off his face, and responded by raising his eyebrows.

John's facial expressions changed every few seconds, after that. He stuck out his jaw and pressed his bottom row of teeth to his top lip. He opened his mouth wide like a clown and crossed his eyes. He tilted his head to the side and stared as though he were a possessed child.

Sherlock responded to each new 'funny face' with a more subtle change in his own expression. He did not smile, but he raised his eyebrows, or narrowed his eyes, or gave John looks that said 'Did you really think that would work?'

John did not seem deterred. He stuck out his tongue, scrunched up his nose, stretched his mouth into odd shapes. He was determined to make Sherlock laugh; nothing was going to make him give up.

Well, nothing except...

" _Mr_ Watson."

John started in surprise as their biology teacher addressed him, a sheepish smile coming over his face. "Yes, ma'am?" he said innocently.

"Are you having a stroke?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Then you have no excuse for making faces in my class."

"I can't help it," John replied. "I'm just _so_ interested in everything I'm learning, I can't keep it off my face."

One of the girls sitting next to John giggled, though the teacher did not look amused. "Nice try," she said. "If you can't keep your interest off your face, then, at least keep your face towards the front of the class."

"Yes, ma'am," John said, and he turned back to the front of the class. When the teacher turned to the whiteboard, however, John glanced over his shoulder at Sherlock, glaring as though Sherlock was the one to blame. Sherlock responded with an innocent look and a shrug of his shoulders.

John turned back to the front of the class before the teacher looked at him again. He didn't see the flicker of a smirk pull over the corner of Sherlock's lips.

**And the one time he did...**

On Friday afternoon, Sherlock gathered his books from his locker, closed the door, turned around, and found himself face to face with John.

John was not making funny faces this time. He also did not immediately start with a joke. Instead, he held up a DVD box so that Sherlock could see the title: _Star Trek_.

Sherlock looked down at the box, and then back to John. "Is that supposed to make me laugh?" he asked.

"Not the box alone, no," John said, putting it back in his bag. "It's not a comedy, exactly, but I thought about it and I figure typical comedies won't work for you. You'll probably find all the jokes stupid. But, this one has some laughs in it, and I'm pretty sure you're the real-life version of Spock, so maybe it'll work."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

John continued, "If you've got plans, we can reschedule, but it's a Friday night and I know you tend to stay back at school late to use the labs, so I figure you probably don't have other commitments." He paused, and then added, "Unless you're committed to staying back and using the labs, but I know we don't have anything due for bio or chem any time soon, so you're all right with missing one night, aren't you?"

"You're inviting me over for a movie night," Sherlock stated, as though he were trying to make sense of the conversation.

"Well, yeah?" John said. "I mean, if _Star Trek_ can't make you laugh, then I might as well admit defeat."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I mean... you're inviting me over, because you're so stubborn and you're insisting on making me laugh."

John frowned, perhaps not sure if there was a question in there somewhere. "Um... yes?"

Sherlock stared. People didn't invite him over for movie nights. People didn't invite him over at all. He wasn't the sort of person who socialised, and he most definitely was not the sort of person that other people wanted to socialise with. The last time Sherlock had watched a movie, he'd been a child, and that was with his nanny (and if he had been given the choice, he would have chosen to do something else).

John continued after a moment, "If you're not interested, it's fine. But, I figure this is my last hope, and what can I say, I'm desperate." He paused for a moment, and then added, "If this doesn't work, I'll stop trying. You can consider yourself the unbeatable Ice King."

Sherlock considered it for a moment. The way he saw it, he had nothing to lose.

So, he shrugged his shoulders. "Why not?" he said, and John's face lit up.

OoO

John's house was walking distance from the school. It didn't take them long to get there.

It was not in the richest part of town, and it certainly was not the biggest house that Sherlock had ever seen. He wouldn't have expected it to be, of course; it was easy to tell from John's choice of clothing that money was tight. He might not have been poor, exactly, but he did not have the kind of money to go spend on whatever he pleased.

The house struck Sherlock as quaint, though he did not comment on it.

"My dad's at work, so he won't be home until late," John said, as he unlocked the door. "And I convinced Harry to go over to her friend's place tonight, so we can have the living room. Otherwise we'd have had to watch it on my laptop and you just wouldn't have gotten the full effect, you know?"

"You convinced your sister to visit her friend? You certainly were confident that I'd say yes."

John shrugged. "If you had said no, it just would have meant I got the house to myself. Besides, she and Clara have been planning a sleepover for ages. She was happy for the excuse."

He led the way into the living room, and Sherlock took it in. It was small, sort of cosy. There were two sofas, set up in front of the television screen, and a bookshelf in the corner. All the spines were cracked; the books there were clearly loved. The room joined onto the kitchen – there was no door to block the view from one to the other – and John tossed his bag carelessly onto the sofa before heading into the kitchen.

"Do you fancy a tea?" he called over his shoulder.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I'm fine," he said, moving over to the sofa but not sitting down. He put his bag down – more carefully – next to John's.

He could hear the sounds of John filling the kettle with water in the kitchen and putting it on the stove. When John looked over the counter to the living room, and saw that Sherlock was still standing, he cracked a smile. "You can sit, you know," he said. "Haven't you ever been to someone's house before?"

Sherlock sat on the sofa and chose not to answer that.

It took John a few minutes to get himself organised, but when he returned to the living room he had in his hands two cups of tea. Sherlock frowned at them.

"I said I didn't want one," he said.

"I know," John replied. "But you also didn't sit down until I gave you permission, so maybe you're being polite. And if not, then I'll drink yours too. I like tea."

He placed the two cups down on the coffee table and then went to put the DVD into the player. Sherlock stared at the cup that John had left in front of him for a moment, before lifting it up and taking a sip. That was better than letting it go to waste, wasn't it?

John set up the DVD, and then he sat down on the sofa next to Sherlock. "You know," he said, "it truly is a crime that you haven't seen these."

"I think there are far worse crimes than having not watched a movie," Sherlock said.

"This isn't just a movie," John said. "This is _Star Trek_ , and there are no greater crimes than having not watched it. You need this movie in your life."

"I've managed living without it just fine."

"You just don't know what you're missing," John said, but before Sherlock had a chance to respond he said, "Shh, it's starting. You need to watch this scene. You will cry."

"I thought the point of this was to make me laugh."

"The laughter comes _after_ the bit that'll make you cry. Now shh, you'll miss it."

They lapsed into silence, watching as the movie began – complete with spaceships and explosions and the typical dead parent backstory that was necessary for any good protagonist. John, despite undoubtedly having seen this movie several times, looked as though all of his attention was on it. Sherlock even thought he saw John's eyes water just a little at the beginning, but it could have just been a trick of the light.

Sherlock didn't really see what the fuss was about. It did not strike him as a completely idiotic movie, no, but it certainly did not need absolutely all of his attention in order to be followed. He tried to pull his phone out of his pocket at several points, so that he could browse the internet while he watched – he was more than capable of multi-tasking. Every time he did, however, John glared at him, threatening to confiscate the phone, telling Sherlock that he wouldn't get "the full _Star Trek_ experience" otherwise.

So, Sherlock watched. He could see why John had thought it might have made him laugh, admittedly. It was not a comedy by any definition, but the interactions between the characters were amusing. They were snarky and sarcastic and occasionally clashed heads, and their behaviours were interesting to watch. One young Russian character seemed to make John smile every time he was on screen, and Sherlock could acknowledge that there was something endearing about his behaviours. A lot of the dialogue between the characters was also amusing. John even laughed aloud a couple of times, but Sherlock kept a straight face.

Sherlock did take a liking to one particular character, who struck him as the most intelligent on the ship. He expressed this liking to John at one point, when that character in question, on screen, said, "If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Sherlock said, "Well, at least someone on this ship is intelligent."

John's face broke into a grin. "I _told_ you you were just like Spock," he said. "We just need to give you pointy ears, and you'd basically be the real-life version."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'd accept the idea that we have similar intellects – he doesn't seem to be a complete imbecile – but I do not look like him, and I would still not look like him with pointy ears."

"No, you probably wouldn't," John said. "Although, you do look just like the bad guy in the next one, Khan. He could be your evil twin brother or something."

"I can't believe that," Sherlock said.

John snickered, covering his mouth to bite back a laugh. Sherlock frowned, running back over the last thing that happened on screen to try to work out what John had found so amusing, but it wasn't a funny moment. So, after a pause, Sherlock frowned and asked, "What?"

John pulled his hand away from his mouth, a grin on his face. "You," he started, cut himself off with a snicker, and then tried again. "You _Khan't_ believe that."

It was the stupidest pun that Sherlock had ever heard in his life. In and of itself, it was not funny. However, John seemed to think it was hilarious, and suddenly he was in fits of laughter. That sight alone was funnier than the joke itself, and Sherlock couldn't stop himself; laughter bubbled up from his throat. The sound only spurred John on.

"All this time," John gasped between giggles, "looking for clever jokes, and all it took was a stupid pun."

"It wasn't the pun," Sherlock said, taking a breath to stop himself from laughing, while the smile stayed on his face. "It was just your reaction to it."

"I told you I'd make you laugh in the end, didn't I?"

"I think _I_ made _you_ laugh," Sherlock corrected.

"Ah, but I was never the one trying to keep a straight face."

"What's your point?"

"My point," John said, "is that I win. And for my prize, you're now going to have to watch the next movie with me. So I can show you who Khan is."

"Ridiculous," Sherlock said, but he hid a ghost of a smile behind his cup of tea.

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of facts about a couple of these sections:
> 
> 1) The game Honey, I Love You was taught to me at a youth group I went to once upon a time. John's actions are very closely based on the actions of a boy at that youth group who attempted to make me laugh. Let it be known that I remain to be the undefeated queen of Honey, I Love You.
> 
> 2) The final section, originally, I had different plans for. However, the day I wrote the first draft of it was the day that I discovered that Anton Yelchin, who plays Chekov in the new Star Trek movies, had died. It hit me hard, and writing has always been my coping mechanism. I wasn't in the state to write a proper Star Trek fic at that point, so it seemed like the right thing to do to incorporate the films into this one. My heart goes out to all of Yelchin's family and friends. I can't imagine how hard the past several months must have been.


End file.
